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Unfortunately, I forgot about it. Again. They will get a belated card in the mail, again. I forget to acknowledge their anniversary every year.

So, why am I forgetting this momentous day? It’s because an event much more important eclipsed it: my birthday. Yes, on June 23, on my parent’s 6th anniversary, I was born. And sorry, folks, that takes precedence over all.

When I became older, and started to realize that the world does not revolve around me (I am still working on that concept), I asked my mom if she minded “losing” her anniversary. She told me she didn’t. I come from a gift giving family, but she assured me that a card would suffice.

But I’m so busy making my birthday list, I seldom remember a card.

Except now, you see, I have lost my birthday. I lost it to a 6 lb. 4 oz. bundle of sweet joy named Allison Christine on June 23, 1992. My 35th birthday, my parents’ 42nd anniversary. The blessings just keep piling up on that single day.

And no, I do not mind losing my birthday. In fact, I really don’t lose it. My sweet husband has always made sure not to forget my birthday; in fact, we celebrate it like a real birthday should be celebrated; just a day before or after.

Every year I do end up baking my own cake – it is a “twofer”, one cake for two birthdays. And, thankfully, both my daughter and I love chocolate.

I can tell you that I would give up my birthday for the rest of my life for this gift that was given to me. My precious girl has been the best birthday present ever. What I wouldn’t give to hold her in my arms like I did 25 years ago.

So, happy birthday to you sweet Allison Christine, and happy birthday to me.